The way it is

Okay, now that I've written a paragraph about the world at large, I feel slightly better about turning the focus back to me. (After all, you don't have to read this.)

So this is the way it is. (Right now. If I didn't have hope for a better tomorrow, I might just shoot myself.) It's been over a month since I've done any real work at my job and I'm in a city where I don't have any friends. I've never been so bored in my life.

At the same time, I'm horribly guilt-ridden, grief-laden, and anger-filled about my aunt having dementia.

At the same, same time, I'm terribly lonely (see also, bored).

At the same, same, same time, I feel completely lost at sea. I don't know why I'm here or what I should do next. I don't find much meaning in anything, even the things I used to find meaningful, like writing, or framing a good picture, or being out in the woods (the jungle, here). The things I write are crap and trite, the pictures I take boring and cliched, and the natural world offers no solace.

At the same -- oh, you get it. I want to have purpose, I want to feel like life has meaning. I want my life to have meaning.

Really, I want to stop sounding and feeling like an angsty teenager. I hate this me.